


Bones and Bread (Eat me up)

by AliceMoranMoriarty



Category: Sterek - Fandom, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Chubby Kink, Comfort Eating, Depression, F/M, Fat Shaming, Humiliation kink, M/M, Multi, Other, Size Kink, Stiles feeling sorry for himself, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceMoranMoriarty/pseuds/AliceMoranMoriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is suffering with a kind of depression and bathes in self pity when he's left alone and purposeless after the saving of their parents and the defeating of the Alpha pack. Up until his Dad shucks him out of the house, and he runs along Derek Hale. Who is back, without Cora, or a reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wallowing

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, just starting this, because this fandom needs more Chubby Stiles. Obviously. Soooo... It's cruddy, but I'm offering it up as a beginning. There will be more. I promise.

Stiles has always been kinda skinny, in the unhealthy nerdy way that made him feel even more out of place in the home of the beautiful, that Beacon Hills seems to be. Then Scott dragged him to the fields to practice Lacrosse with him, and that was bone achingly awful, till he started to enjoy it. Then they attempted to join the team together.  
Stiles isn’t even slightly bothered when Scott joins first line, and he doesn’t, because things start happening, and now he’s at least got some muscle now, so running away from things that want to rip into him isn’t that much trouble, and best of all, he’s not been severely maimed yet. Which must be a good thing. 

Another thing that comes with the things that want to kill them all, is Derek Hale. Who, while at first terrifying, is growing on Stiles. He’s got that kind of brutish, misunderstood murderous beauty, which Stiles has to say gives him shivers in bad moments. Derek is different to Lydia in most ways, while being exactly Stiles’ type in others. He likes sharp people, who could never possibly want him back. Yes, he finally accepted the ten year plan might not work out. He likes strong people, people who are hiding who they are, in some ways. Who are focused on what has to be done, to keep what they love.

Lydia was delicate, and well spoken, and always playing to win.  
Derek is godlike, and gruff, and fumbling his way through most situations with violence.  
Stiles thinks his main kink is people out of his league. He needs lower standards, honest to god he does.

Now his Dad is safe, and the darkness has settled round his heart, Derek is gone, and Scott is finding new people. People like Isaac, and Allison. People who aren’t him. Lydia has gone on holiday with her parents, where she’ll no doubt have a miserable time, but will find someone well muscled and jerkish to fuck. He isn’t bitter. Nope. She’s one of his best friends now. She can fuck people. That’s...yup.

That leaves Stiles with a lot of nothing. First of all, he lies in bed a lot. Not sleeping. Sleep is hard to catch sight of. He plays endless video games, and completes the lot. Again. And then again. Reads every book on the list for school. Walks back and forth from the fridge. He eats. Food tastes good, and safe and solid, and for a little time, it fills the holes. Until it doesn’t. Then he has more, or distracts himself with a cat video on the internet. He doesn’t go out. Scott doesn’t text, other than to talk about himself. Stiles tries to give enthusiastic replies, but he knows it sounds flat. So he stops replying eventually. No one seems to mind. 

His Dad grabs him by the hoodie one afternoon, when he’s ears deep in chocolate brownies, and to his protestations, pulls him up the stairs. “You’re putting jeans on, and clean clothes, and going out. I get it, you’re recovering from stress. But you can’t stay in here all the time. You’ll go mad. Where’s Scott?”

He shrugged, unable to answer that. “He’s...got other people to be with, I guess. A girl friend. And all that.” Stiles tries not to sound bitter and hurt, but it doesn’t work. Ah well.  
Papa Stilinski shakes his head. “Just get out there. And shower, for the love of god, son. Your hygiene has gone way down.”

Stiles’ ears flush pink. He does as he’s told.

*****

He drives around in the jeep for roughly an hour, figuring that’ll be enough to get his Dad off his back, so he can go back to fantasy worlds that can’t rip his soul out. He rounds the corner by the woods, and suddenly, his foot is on the brake. Stopping dead. Because Derek Hale is stood there, pulling a case of things after him. No car. Just walking.  
He stops to breathe hard, mouth open, and for moment he thinks he’s going to have a panic attack, because Derek Hale left, and Cora doesn’t seem to be with him, and that can’t mean good things, and holy crap…  
His heart breaks for Derek, and he’s missed him. Like full on. The emotion is like a rock to his chest, and he briefly wonders if he remembered his meds today, and if that’s why everything feels so intense.  
“Dude!” He finds himself shouting out.  
Derek turns to look at him, staring straight into his eyes, and Stiles wants to stab himself in the chest.  
“Derek! Derek, where are you headed?” He pulls up beside him, staring worriedly. “I’ll give you a lift.” He doesn’t mention the fact that Derek left without a word. Or the lack of Cora.  
Derek stares for another moment, before giving a nod, and pulling open the door of the Jeep, and tugging his case inside with him. “Stiles.” 

“Hey.” He offers a smile, starting up again and heading down the road. Derek is still looking at him, like he’s trying to figure something out. He shakes it off. “So, where to?”

“Hotel.” His head snaps to Derek, frowning.  
“You don’t have to do that. Dude, if you don’t have a place to stay, we have a spare room.”

And after some brief grumbling, which Stiles takes to mean that Derek is thankful, and a call to his Dad, it’s settled. They head back to Casa de Stilinski, and Stiles tries not to think or get invested in any of what’s happening, even though thoughts are buzzing through his head. Thoughts about sharing a bathroom with the Greek God Wolf Sex thing, and eating food at the same table, despite the addition of one Sheriff, and...Stop it.

And when they get out of the car, if Derek stares at his waist, he stops the moment Stiles catches him. And leaves Stiles wondering what the hell is on his shirt.  
Till he looks down at himself for the first time in what must be a month, and realises, holy crap, he has a gut.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles discovers he is even more deviant than he thought. And enjoys it. Intensely.

Sheriff Stilinski had been at the station when he’d called, so it was obvious he’d have to sort Derek out a room, and do the talk, and just generally be a good host, something Stiles can’t say he’s succeeded at before. Being Stiles, though, and embarrassed as hell about the podgy thing, he’s going to make the biggest effort, and show Derek-I-stare-rudely-at-fat-people-Hale. So he can suck it.  
Not like that. Christ.  
Pulling up outside, he nods to Derek, and turns off the engine. Doing a double take, he watches for a moment, how Derek doesn't look lost and mournful as he might do, so much as bored. Tired. Purposeless. Like him. Once they’re inside, Stiles let the door fall behind Derek, and spreads his arms. “So...this is the place. Pretty sure you've only seen my room before, so this is- this is it. Want a drink?”   
Derek nods an affirmative, but he’s still doing that quiet emotional-constipation thing, where nothing gets past his arse hole wall that he’s built around himself. The cold from the beer in his hand feels nice. He’s looking forward to when he can drink legally, and not have his father give him evils when he discovers half empty whiskey bottles. Because that’s happened more than once now.  
“You staying for long? What brings you back to us?” It was meant as conversational, but it might get heavier than that, Stiles realises a little late.  
Derek seems to gather his all, and sighs. “Cora- She’s decided she’ll go to college. She’s getting a dorm with friends. So I came here.” There’s obviously a lot not said in that explanation, but from the bruised expression, Stiles thinks Cora might have brushed him off.   
“Right. Got any plans?”  
“Work. I’ll be out of your hair in a week or two, max.”  
“Well, no problem, dude. I mean, me casa, su casa. Whatever that means, and if that’s even right. Spanish is a blur to me. That’s when I was making up for sleep lost running around like a headless chicken.”  
And Derek offers him something close to a smile. All of sudden, the cloud that’s been surrounding Stiles since he died, and then came back, it’s separated by an inch, to give him the tiniest glimmer of light. And it feels good. Hopeful.

*****  
Stiles makes the bed up in the spare room, and shows Derek around, bathrooms, and such. He says that they mostly get takeout or eat leftovers, but he’s welcome to both, and if anyone cooks, he’ll definitely be warned about it. Derek thanks him, looks grumpy and cold, and then leaves again, something about looking for work. Stiles figures he can put that Werewolf speed to some use, and get himself to the town centre. He has things he wants to do.

Standing in front of the mirror and actually looking at himself, it’s horrendously obvious. Not that it sickens him, or anything as teenage girly, or Jacksonish as that, it’s just...he feels a flush of hot burning shame. Just because he’s hopelessly human, doesn't mean he needs to be weak. And fat.   
He guesses, and thinks he’s put on roughly fifteen pounds. Or more. There’s the chubbier cheek thing, and the softness under his jaw, which might eventually become a double chin. Christ, as his head lowers slightly, he realises it might not be all that far. Good grief. His arms are thicker, he notes, slightly squidgier. As is his chest, which isn’t all that bad, just softer. So odd. That’s all he can think, as he looks on in wonder, finding the hot feeling curling up inside him. Shame, and something else.  
Now to look at the tummy. It’s not huge, just the little beginning of a belly. A slight curve outwards from under his ribs, that’s super squidgy to the touch, and ends in a little pooch outwards over his waist band. His shirt doesn't hide it all. It’s tight around the flesh, and he can see a little indent, where his navel is. The heat moves from inside him, central, lower, and he finds he knows what that is. Arousal.   
He decides not to think about that yet. If he could.   
Stiles lifts the graphic tee, and pokes at the pale flesh. There are two moles that actually settle over the curve, and he thinks it doesn’t look as bad as it might. He’s still awesome. He turns around to check out if he’s got junk in the trunk. He has. His arse is certainly giving his jeans more trouble than they used to have, and that’s...the heat is intense. He likes this.  
Stiles Stilinski is fat. He likes it.  
In his mind, he tries to run through the reasons for this. Has he gone mad? Is he sick? Is he deviant? Definitely yes to that one, but save it.  
The jeans come off, and he looks at how thick his thighs are, soft and pale and if he moves, shit, they jiggle slightly. Is that normal? Should he worry that jiggling flesh that doesn't belong to a red head woman is turning him on. His cock is definitely interested, and he wonders if he can exchange it. For one bigger. And less interested in making him into one of the obese of America.  
Then again, if he can get off to fingers up his ass, and thinking about Lydia, or Derek telling him he’s a bad slut, he can definitely work with this.   
Lying back against the bed, and pulling off his shirt, he curled a hand around himself, and tried to imagine what about this made him feel so good.  
Indulgent. Greedy. Fat. His humiliation kink. Okay.  
And the thought of doing more. Of eating until he can’t any more, and then having someone see him. Having someone make him blush, and feel bad, and squirm. Holy fuck. Of getting fat, and ashamed, and not fitting into clothes. Of being the fat kid of Beacon Hills. The fat kid, who got off on the stares, and little kids asking their mummies why that person was so BIG.

He comes at least three times that night, and makes a note to do some research. He’s discovered a new kink of his. And it’s probably the best one he’s ever come to.  
He doesn’t consider the fact that Derek Hale had come back late in the evening, and has super hearing.


End file.
